


Close Quarters

by CubanCracker62



Series: Stories from the Spiral [4]
Category: Pirate101 (Video Game)
Genre: Claustrophobia, Gen, Small dark spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CubanCracker62/pseuds/CubanCracker62
Summary: A short story featuring how Quinn ended up on the Erebus.
Series: Stories from the Spiral [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1213407
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Close Quarters

The first thing Quinn noticed when he woke up was the splitting headache.

Groaning in pain, he cracked one eye open. He didn’t recognize his surroundings. Actually, it was too dark to make out anything. 

“What the hell..?”

His head swam as he tried to recall how he ended up here. He… he remembered being in one of the Isle’s warehouses. Finnigan had been furious with him about something. He felt like he knew the reason why, but right now his head hurt too much to concentrate on what that was. He remembered the two of them arguing. Then fighting. And then getting his head slammed into the wall. That explained the headache. He also remembered Finn mentioning something about the docks before he blacked out, but his memory didn’t extend past that.

He tried to sit up, but his head banged against something hard and wooden, and the pounding headache he had returned tenfold.

“Ow! Augh…” He gave up and laid there, waiting for the pain to recede before trying again. As he waited, he took in his surroundings.

_ Alright. It’s dark. Cramped, _ he mentally noted.  _ I think I’m lying on top of something. _ He shifted uncomfortably for a moment.  _ And my hands are tied behind me, _ he thought. None of that told him where he was, though.

“This sucks…” he muttered, to no one in particular.

He sighed to himself.  _ No use sitting idly, I guess. _ First things first: If he wanted to get out of this, he was going to need his hands. It was a bit difficult in such a dark and cramped space, but after a good ten minutes of awkward wrestling, he managed to get his still-tied hands in front of him. That would at least help.

He put his hands out, meeting the wooden ceiling that he’d hit his head on earlier. He blindly felt his way along the ceiling, eventually bumping his hands against the corner of a wall.

_ Huh, _ he thought. He moved them a different direction; another wall. Another direction, another wall. Even with his headache, he was able to put two and two together.

_...I’m in a crate. _

His mind began to race as he processed this. What the hell was he doing in a crate? Did Finnigan put him here? Where  _ was _ he?

He shook himself out of his thoughts. Those were questions for later. Crates could be broken out of. Jail cells could not. He shifted himself into a more favorable position, and then with all the strength he could muster, kicked both feet against the ceiling. 

And again. 

And again. 

After a fourth attempt, he heard the telltale sound of wood splintering. 

On the fifth, an audible, splintery  _ crack _ resounded as nails ripped from the wood, and light began to peek in. 

On the sixth, the wood gave way, making an opening large enough for him to get out.

He quickly climbed out, noticing that he was unmistakably in the lower hold of a ship. Thankfully no one was here, and he didn’t hear anyone coming to investigate the commotion he made just yet.

He looked at the opened crate, noticing that there were a few sharp-looking nails that stuck out at odd angles. Determined as ever, he used one to crudely hack at the strip of cloth binding his hands together, until it was ripped enough for him to tear through the bindings. He rubbed his sore wrists, relieved to have his hands free again.

Looking around, he noticed more cargo in the hold around him, some of which had been marked and labeled. The insignia they were labeled with caught his eye: a gear with a rose in the center. Now thoroughly alarmed, he looked around and noticed that the ship’s design looked awfully familiar.

_ Oh no. _

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hollow footsteps coming down the stairs; thinking quickly, he ducked behind a stack of cargo just as two clockworks entered the hold.

_ Come on… please go away, _ he thought. 

They didn’t. Rather than leaving, he heard them approach; no doubt to investigate the mess he’d made of the ship’s cargo. He shifted further into the spot where he was hiding, barely daring to breathe. They walked right past his hiding spot, and he had to suppress a sigh of relief; he wasn’t out of the woods just yet.

He looked over from his hiding spot, noting how they were no longer facing him. Seeing an opportunity, he quickly crept over to another stack of cargo, closer to the stairs. He took another quick look, and moved to another stack.

As he wove his way between the stacks, Quinn paused to hide behind one; as he leaned against it, it shifted and knocked some of the cargo on top loose of its bindings, falling off to the floor with a loud clatter. Quinn quickly moved to stay hidden, nearly cursing out loud. However, the damage was already done; the two clockworks turned towards the source of the disturbance. 

“Intruder. Identify yourself!”

Now panicking, he dropped all attempts at being stealthy and bolted toward the stairs. Blood pounded in his ears. Or maybe that was the splitting headache. Either way, it didn’t matter; he had to get out of here. He sprinted up the steps two at a time, hearing the sounds of gunfire just behind him.

_ Go go go GO GO- _

He paused when he ran up on deck. The vast, starlit expanse of Westminster skyway stretched around them, no escape route in sight; the Isle was only a speck on the horizon.

He mentally kicked himself. How could he be so stupid? He was on a ship! Of course they would be in the middle of the skyway!

Before he could think of what to do next, he was surrounded by three Armada marines, all pointing their halberds directly at him. He was as good as caught.

He heard footsteps approach behind him, and a voice different than that of any clockwork he’d heard. “What’s this?” He turned to see it belonged to a clockwork dressed in fine black livery, holding a cane. A pit began to form in his stomach as he recognized Deacon. “What are you doing here? Thought you could sneak onto  _ my _ ship and spy on us, didn’t you?”

Quinn was at a complete loss. He couldn’t see a way out of this. Was this what Finnigan had been planning for him? 

“I… I’m not-”

Deacon turned away, not even bothering to hear what he might have had to say. “Take him to one of the cells,” he said, almost sounding bored. A couple of the marine soldiers grabbed his arms and led him away.

_ This sucks, _ he thought bitterly, as he was escorted below deck.

**Author's Note:**

> Origin stories. Gotta love 'em.  
> Man, Quinn had it a lot rougher than Kaitlyn did. Then again, Kaitlyn's origin story is almost 6 years old...  
> ...Wow, that fic is old enough to go to kindergarten. Time sure flies, doesn't it?


End file.
